Monday, 27 December 2010
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Here some of the photo's:
Monday, 20 December 2010
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Like the snow in Britain, he came too quick
And I was not prepared for the scale of his bits
And no grit could help with this shit
So I’m stuck with his seed, while his out with some chicks
And he’s up in the club, and I’m watching a flick
And I swear, an abortion is looking so good right now
But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all of this, is that what looks good
Hell, it ain’t
And it leaves you messed up like carpet and paint
You can wash it away, but it’s still shit after
They tell me that the best medicine is laughter.
And so I,
Turn on the TV to try to block it out of my brain
Until I realise it is that same device that got me giving brain
All the things I have seen I cannot retract
I was too caught up in this box to educate myself with the real facts
And I’m looking at nappies, sitting on the shelf, man
I’m not ready to be a mum. I’m just a kid myself, and I’m
Not ready for this responsibility.
Shit, I’m twelve
I can’t even vote, I can’t even smoke, I can’t even drink and of all the
Illegal shit I had to do it just had to be this
The one thing where I’m not just responsible for me, but also this
But this isn’t how I envisioned it
Where’s my husband, my dog, my house and my picket fence?
I guess it’s where my virginity is, gone, torn
It has died, and now this must be born
It’s a vicious cycle, but I drew it
I had a decent life, but I threw it
And all cause all the kids on the block ‘do it’
The lack of love I was given I thought I could find at the end of a man
I wish I knew that no man deserved me, that no man could desert me
Because I could never be alone if God is with me
Now I am focussed on my seeds
That I will raise to be mothers and fathers
Helen Kellers and Che Guevaras
They might not have a dad,
But I will be their Father
Their sole providers
Their soul riders
And I will love them with one condition
That they love each other
And they will never treat another
How their dad treated their Mother.
By Young, Talented Poet Samira Musa based In Islington. WATCH THIS SPACE!
Friday, 17 December 2010
How many lives were lost?
The ground bled red
With innocent blood
Slave masters, governors even king and queens
Orchestrating mass murder in their serene scenes
Imagine a mother,
wife and daughter’s cries of pain and frustration
Over bloody wars fought for the freedom of a nation
But not just on the battlefield politically as well
The appearance of this land epitomises hell
so the urge to progress independently
and become a country that can stand on its own
I speak critically for those who died before me
Their injustice were never told only
Because of an unimaginable tyranny
Trying to take one people’s hope to be free
I can never know
How many lives were lost?
The ground bled red
With innocent blood
I refuse to shun
The unimaginable truth
That whilst innocent people where being slaughtered
It made the wicked more financially supported
National heroes tried to defy this
And some executed in the process:
Samuel Sharpe, George William Gordon and Paul Bogle
All were men born in slavery and are notably noble
Who contributed to its abolishment as a whole
Where their stories and their role will forever be known
Den ova to de wuman, de Obeah wuman known as Nanny,
She herself freed over 800 slaves
her ferocious Maroons, feared by the British for what they displayed
they were untamed lions strong as
whilst Marcus Garvey renown as he fought to outline
The abuse of Africans at the time
Norman Manley and Sir Alexander Bustamente
Involved in the struggle against colonial rule
Fought using their political tools
Took advantage of an empire going downhill
U see dem yout mi a talk bout
Mi av’ nuf respect fi dem cause
fe dem role in a de liberation of a country
that belongs to me
I will never know
How many lives were lost?
That turned the ground red
With innocent blood
Can warfare be used to release the oppressed into peace?
This dilemma we discuss on the news and the street
But the truth I believe is not in what we perceive
but in what we do
Like heroes in
By Tajhame 'TJ" Jackson a poet, playwright and actor
Tajhame spent his childhood in Kingston, Jamaica until the age of 9 when he moved to North London. This poem was inspired by Jamaican history and his experiences there.
A clip of TJ performing this poem will appear on the blog soon!
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Killing thousands upon thousands.
Now i fast forward 65 years
Still bloodshed in the political sphere,
By the military volunteer,
Hearing shit through the vestibule of his ear.
Everyone hopeful of peace but we aint nowhere near.
The mission, the repetition, obama deception,
The western Influence and the Eastern resistance.
The Saudi King and Arab word's puppet pittance.
Sucked up by America's New World Order,
With Karzai saying "I'm just protecting my borders",
Bullshit, he is sucking his people dry,
Like the Indus River in the month of July.
All slaves to the bureaucracy, open hell mutiny.
A chance for Taliban to execute their battle plan,
But the War isn't over cos they still curse the city man.
But you notice all this cos of BBC news,
On repetition slowly moulding your views.
2/3 of the world has deterring education,
Constant striving of 3rd world nations,
So the rich can fulfil their gluttony,
They should be locked up for 1st degree felony,
Smart suits but no intelligent policy.
I turn to Mali, world's lowest rate of literacy.
99' they deploy the British Army to Sierra Leone,
Where kids die forever searching the shiny bloodstone,
But that's what's on the hands of America,
Till this day expanding military bases in Africa,
To deter violence and uphold the UN resolution.
But 2003 you invade Iraq, how is that a solution?
You say it was to bring democracy,
Don't feed us that bullshit it's all hypocrisy.
Time travelling but our views may disagree,
for a moment of peace but there's no guarantee.
You may run from honesty but can't hide from the truth i speak.
Open you eyes cos your mind is weak,
So now you see there is more to life than your Prada and Burberry,
I do what Malcolm X said, "By any means necessary",
cos I believe.
Wednesday, 8 December 2010
Crack a another joke
Take another toke
All got money
Yet all broke
Paralysed is being a bloke
Making people glad
If you act like a lad
More to decanter
Cause its just banter
Smiles on faces
Looking for new places
On a saturday night
All wanna shine so bright
We need a flashing light
Let us be emotionally
And socially epileptic
Text message talk
Leaves us dyslexic
But do you think we care?
About swagger and hair
And if we walk with flair
Without a doubt we'll glare
At the boys on the estate
With no debate
To show we're hard
Eating reshaped lard
The time is no sign
As we shape another line
Make every crime
Till we feel like grime
To be deseeding
Females are our feeding
Impressing the peers
With fake jewels in ears
Not knowing what drugs we're using
What drink we're boozing
But we're never loosing
With a text
With in for sex
Come and go
Worship the man behind decks
Next morning blues
Vomit on shoes
Must have a been a good one
Yeh really fun
Throat like sand
No money in hand
Inpregnanted a girl
Which was planned
By she was peng and tanned
So fuck it
Front window shatters
Nothing ever matters
But that's the point
Living like dirt
But make it grand
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended
Russian vodka in throat
Left on the same boat
As all her girls
Who are the best looking in the world
And with another drink
To the floor
And left raw
Tongues behind the door
She wants no one to see
But everyone to know
That for him she went low
And made him a man
For the start that was he plan
Sober she's prudent
An A star student
But she wants to act stupid
So she can exploit cupid
But we just laugh
Love bite hidden by a scarf
Sucked till a cut
Called a sket, hoe and a slut
Her slates been painted and tainted
And she can't wipe it
But deep down she likes it
Little miss rave
To be left in a daze
Under her allure and haze
That's the mission
To get boys wishing
To get them flirting
Until she starts screaming
And masscara starts to run
But she'll make the boys come
And speak highly
The objective is grimey
To find the stimulant
To get intimate
In for the kill
And she's on the pill
Fumble in the dark
We don't need protection
Fake hair, nails and unreal complexion
Never happy at her reflection
But let the party go on
One night we'll forget where we're from
Dance all night
Till the morning light
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended
Its all about the nightlife
Weekend fun loving
Kind of fun
So we can snort and bun
And never repent
To our hearts content
Is to make our name
And let it ring across the land
Remember we gotta act sane but try and oustand
Seri Kholi also a hip hop artist and emcee by the name of Seri Skay and member of the Poetry collective: 'Words Apart'
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Sunday, 19 September 2010
My words are screamed over and theirs begin to encroach my head.
Watch how quick their anger blows up and finds a fight,
My emotions begin to catch alight.
Their words cut me like a knife
It soon begins to hurt someplace deep inside.
I leave the room as they scream and shout
So I can scratch the pain on the surface until I zone out.
The sting brings with it a false sense of relief
So much for trying to turn over a new leaf
Everything stops for that moment in which I'm now stuck
The place where I truly don't give a fuck.
I've heard them say some things are a little too late
I guess this is one of them, a fact I truly hate
It’s done now and there's no going back
No chance to gain the strength which I so desperately lack.
Numbness takes over and hardens my heart
I dry my tears and dream of a new start
But as I open my eyes it suddenly hits me
These dreams will never ever be my reality, I am simply my own worst enemy
As the days go by I slowly try to figure it out
Questioning myself, what is it really all about
I need to let go of these demons that haunt me
I just want some peace; I need to set my mind free
I’ve had enough of the tears
Sick and tired of fighting this battle for the past four years
Enough is enough, I’m done giving in
It’s too self destructive living with this sin
I pray for strength, I pray there won’t be a next time
My skin doesn’t look too pretty with all these confused lines
So for now I hope that the scars inside
Will fade quicker than the ones I try to hide.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Tupac was a
Kanye is a
And YOU too can be a Poet.
This Monday at Canada Villa be part of
the poetic revolution sweeping across
Be part of a thriving community of poets, exchange ideas, create new work and work towards a performance at The Rumi Festival (
Hosted by The Leano and Urban Poet.
With Guest Poets coming in too!
What to bring: Your mind, a pen and any poetry you may have to perform
What time? Every week, Monday Nights at
For more information contact: M.Zain in college or email: email@example.com
Friday, 10 September 2010
Monday, 6 September 2010
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Two souls forming as one
Hearts beating in sync
Our love deviant like the rising sun
We’re gifted with knowledge
Tortured by bittersweet fate
Our feelings we acknowledge
Laid out like fresh bait
We’re pawns to this intimate game
Beckoning, consuming our minds
Powerful source with no name
That slowly drinks up our time
No fresh blade can cut these chains
Their marks will be etched onto our skins
Poison running freely into our veins
We may forget, and move on,
But in the end there is no real win
By Ambia Khatun
Saturday, 21 August 2010
So fragile, so easy to pull apart
These profound emotions find no rest
They Pulsate mercilessly against the chest
Disturbing the sleep with their rhythmic blows
Flooding the mind with thoughts overflowed
They reside in the heart, to the world,unknown
Emotionally overpopulated chamber, ready to implode
No more escape through imaginary seduction
Reality is here to devastate your fictitious conception
Mental stability is now in critical condition.
By Zibz Hilwa, Talented Poet and Photographer
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Executioner of the orders.
Indiscriminately firing my words like fatal bullets,
Puncturing the rims of your authority;
inflicting you with agony.
Hear my gun shots loud and clear,
Let them echo in the caves of your ear.
I carry with me an intense heat
Burning like a fire;
fueling this rebellious desire.
The sparks entice me,
with their luminous glow.
The blaze ignites upon your every attempt of control.
I oppose you with a passion
A passion so dire;
It tenses my muscles,
protrudes my veins,
blurs my sight,
heaves my emotions;
for I am only capable of frustration in the face of hopelessness.
They regard it a loss of sanity-
rebellion I am.
By the talented photographer and poet Zibz Hilwa
Friday, 13 August 2010
Now we are in this country, they say London is so diverse, but our colour and creed is a curse to them, trapped in the system of capitalism, and they fool us into thinking we need their DEPENDENCE
The shortened version of the word Pakistani to a four letter word that bigots of the 70’s enjoyed using while bashing my family, and the N word used to described slaves to degrade them, disgrace them, yet we use them in abundance.
Words that state us and paint our personality and taint our reality
Two words trickled down to the youth, in dismay, passed through like an urban cool, but who’s the fool; tell me who’s the fool when these words would make Enoch Powell drool. At the thought that we the minority, driving the NHS and maintaining the elite authority, degrade ourselves in such a way.
I can’t understand why these words are in the oxford dictionary, when it’s just fantasy fiction created by the oppressors of the past, how long will this last, They tell us to move from past to present but like the Palestinian scarf this fashion is one that is likely to last.
The problem isn’t as simple as a pimple on your face, as we scratch away, hoping one day this dilemma will go away, scratching away, until nothing is left but a scar on your cheek and mankind’s conscious.
Politicians tell us to move on, while I wipe the backside of the Lord in the chamber, I just wiped you bottom, can I have my peerage now please? Prince Harry showing us that the monarchy have not changed, just exchanged the whip for the word.
And now the disease is a condition, smiles of the bigots in the graves develop as I call my Pakistani friend a Paki and my Black friend a nigger, as if, spitting in the faces of the brave men and women who fought in the struggle.
The solution remains in the heart, where the disease was first implemented, showing brothers your love is above all else what we must strive for, to escape this condition and that. Is the mission.
So when you walk on the street, embrace your brother, black, white, brown any colour that our green, blue or brown eyes see.
Because no colour truly defines me.
no colour DEFINES your identity
The 'White boy', shaved head, leaning on the wall,
Can’t cry, can’t smile, life for him is dead.
Tall towers engulf his world, opportunities are far,
His life is summed up by the cut above is lip,
Etched on his soul, lies another scar
Beat down before, not now he says,
‘I got myself a knife’
So often he comes back in a daze
Friday was high day and they would blaze
witnessed father beat her black and blue,
he thought if she wasn't my mother I would beat her too.
aspirations were existent but they were stamped out even through resistance
wrote a short story through his teacher's insistence
but it wasn't published because no one persisted.
This emotional function is stained, gone black,
‘I never been a boy, I never existed’
He mumbles, his life is as evil as twisted,
Now spends his days, getting high on crack
Ignorant and angry, there is no way back.
His deep blue eyes swallow hope,
And the blade in his hand shouts insecurity,
As the fumes in his fag make him choke,
Labelled a failure, teachers gave up,
His body is corrupt, he has had enough,
Lying their mindless, just like before,
But blood dominates as he is no more,
For the sorrow of it all,
No one really cares,
‘He’s vulgar, racist, he shouts, he swears,
So there he rots labelled ‘The Yob’
As deep in the estate, his mother starts to sob.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
But in reality it's just contradictions and hypocrisy
Hiding behind their protective veils
Goverment and money as their shields
Point their finger at innocent nations
Then sell to them their destructive creations
They create an international police force
Whilst claiming to start legitimate wars
They say their just creating a peaceful world
Then make weapons more dangerous, why?
To increase their worth
They fell threatened when a country makes progress
Then decide it's elimination in their prejudice congress
Arrogant viewpoints- their supreme opinions
At their command deaths of thousands of civilians
They initiated the terrorist colony
Started off all the killing, pain and agony
Yet they invade other nations
Accusing them of their own violations
They fund dictators and form a strong alliance
Then feel threatened when the dictator becomes defiant
To maintain power and avoid deviation
They invent a war on terror..A great fabrication
Claiming to be saviours they come with their artillery
Armed to their teeth killing relentlessly
They feel free to avenge the death of their loved ones
Yet it's a crime for us to protect our homeland?
If they really are fighting terror like they said
Then their guns should be pointing at their own heads
By Fatema Khatun
Friday, 6 August 2010
Tall and strong in my occupation
Here I stand,
In the shadow of the strong and tall,
Yet I am stronger
I am deeper,
I am love,
I am no heart of stone,
And, in time
I will sow a thousand doves,
That will spread their wings,
And break this stone oppressor,
From its very foundations,
Do not mistake me,
Simply for a frail old thing,
For I was here before you,
Am here with you,
And shall be here long after you have gone..
Even tho you may try to slay me
My life comes from within,
the very earth under your feet.
My heart beats freedom.
By DJ Steaz
'This poem was inspired initially by the photograph, and also the experiences I have had and people I have met throughout my life, combined with my journey and experience in Palestine ...an expression of my feelings and thoughts which manifested in these words..the poem is kind of about the Olive tree..but it's really more profound than that..kind of regarding human perseverance, strength, passion, peace, truth and love' DJ Steaz...
This poem was inspired by the experiences I have had and people I have met throughout my life.
Here is a link for the photographers original work:
Saturday, 31 July 2010
I believe that men should lower their gaze and maintain their modesty,
I believe that women should cover themselves up and dress properly,
I believe in wisdom generosity and piety,
I believe in freedom of speech and equality.
I believe in honesty and loyalty and neglect the ideology of pride and royalty.
These lyrics are real coz they come straight from the heart I take lyricism a privilege and I consider it as an art,
I believe Martin Luther King when he said "I have a dream",
I believe that we will be victorious like the days of the great sultan salahudeen,
I believe that men and women should look at the heart and soul,
rather than the outer appearance from head to toe,
I believe that the political and legal system in which the world operates around will eventually break,
I believe that people in this world are fake,
I believe that some people are real and see through the bull**** and the lies,
I believe the angels take our prayers to the almighty in the heavenly skies,
I believe that one should stay pure,
I believe for every disease there is a cure,
I believe that the disabled and the terminally ill are already in paradise,
I believe in heaven and hell and the after life.
I believe that woman's heart should make you smile,
I believe that women shouldn't take there beauty as an advantage,
And I believe people shouldn't take compliments for granted,
I believe a man shouldn't lay a finger on his woman,
And I believe that she shouldn't provoke him,
I believe married men shouldn't take advantage of young girls,
I believe that punishment will befall them in this world
I believe that women should be treated like queens by their husband,
I believe that men should be treated like kings by their wife,
I believe that you shouldn't have a vision of how you want to live your life.
I believe in freedom and peace will come to palestine,
I believe this system we will eventually defeat,
I believe that if we believe we can achieve,
If we've achieved then its all coz we've believed,
So all u gotta so is just believe, because I believe.
by Riyaz Mangia aka Poet Razette
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Then she experienced a dream, lost consciousness, the cousin of death, call it what you will.
In this lost land she sat there still,
Writing, only seven about an Afghan princess,
Her own life, ravaged by incest,
But she still felt blessed to see the fruit blossom
Poor mother was still serving a life’s debt
Time dictated by war, post soviet,
Pre-Taliban, but still times were rough
Cursed with tragic optimism, still it was tough
Still Sara played everyday,
Climbing tree’s whilst father was out fishing
The clouds were mountains
And the shooting stars were for wishing
One odd, dark day,
Quite cold for Kandahar,
An old bearded man was seen from afar
As he arrived it looked like the death of laughter
His skin looked wrinkled, eyes were sinister,
But to the people he was the village minister
Ordering the immediate circumcision,
Not male, female and related it to religion
A false pretence, a sheer fallacy
But know one dared say it in public you see
Men like the minister had severe insecurities
He had constant power deficiency
The old man’s logic was law,
But in private many questioned what for?
Tribal and cultural heritage was at the core
Along with its justification which went like this:
“If you wrong the wrongdoers
Punishing you is just
And if he rapes you,
He has a right to fulfil his lust”
Sara was scared, but stepped up with courage
Mother was scared too but father too impoverished
A shooting star came and Sara wished
Staring at the mountainous clouds
But her soul felt finished.
The incision was made,
But it took too long
So much agony so her mother sang Sara a song
Everything so unnatural, all of it so wrong
Suddenly life’s cruel twists came to be
Young, beautiful Sara was never free
So much blood, 7 years since her birth
Young sweet Sara returned to the earth.
Sara didn’t wake up.
Friday, 9 July 2010
Across the Vast mountainous plains lied a boy named Rocky,
The beautifully engrossing forests and calm blue sky catch the eye.
The vast desert and the canyons galore, often gives you the sense of grandeur,
But delusions of the mind lead to downfall. This is America.
Rocky, Native by appearance and works in a fast food joint,
Often he questions ‘what’s the point?’ as he refills the dips,
Before taking another order of Fillet O Fish and Chips.
As He attaches the kissable bun to the artificial cheese
His rough, armoured skin he scratches, lights the matches
Before explaining the past like he was opening the latch to a sealed soul,
‘Our history is Centauries old’ as we huddled from the cold
As a tragic story of human belligerence was told:
‘His ancestors were not American Citizens before 1924,
No, they weren’t because Columbus found them,
To him they owe a lot including bringing epidemic disease,’
Says Soft spoken Rocky in the ice cold breeze.
History’s horrifically manipulated historiography meant truth was a lie,
The Europeans Massacred to ‘civilise us.’ Nothing new there
Ironically society there and here is now almost equal and fair
As I almost feared Rocky’s cold as ice stare
Indian wars, tales of slavery the so called birth of the ‘New nation’
Death, sorrow, submission in contradiction to European elation
Whispers of reparation is equating gold for the soul,
As the constitution prescribed freedom but then human’s were also bought and sold.
Assimilation or isolation the choice was very clear,
Coerced cohesion causes catastrophic fear
Now wandering like ‘a tree without its roots’
A product consumed to work for the American McDream
And funnily enough they aren't 'loving it'
But alas for the Native American, ‘Democracy beckoned’
And the Victors do not play nice to those who come second
Because ‘Civilisation’ he explained was about working in McDonalds.
And ‘Freedom’ he said is being able to order a Big Mac.
By Mohamed-Zain Dada
The rehabilitation of Martin Atchet
As I come out of the quiet storm
Building up on broke down form
the induction into hell I hear the cries and mourns
watching the clocks is making me ill
against the wall semi conscious 'bout to fall with no boxing skills.
The truth had me up against my own mind a couple times
and in everyone you find a bit of cheat and lies!
so the truth eventually dies...
like Revolutionary leaders that end up getting crucified.
heavenly proof the truth sets you free in to the open
and then kills you in the same breath leaving you broken inside
you find nothing until you open your eyes
I ain't talking 'bout the 2 on your face I'm talking 'bout the one in your mind,
the one in your brain
and I can't contemplate all that’s going down in this world
it's just all the same day after day
Too much patience that’s why I prey
too impatient to rest so I jus stay awake
hardly sleep 'cause I heard sleep is the cousin of death
I hold thoughts deep, real deep within my breath
and the way it speaks is lighter in a sense
that it makes me want to put my heart in until the time it ends.
The rhyme, itself, has no ending to the meaning
interpretations are infinite reach for the sky lifting' the ceiling
and thats how the truth made me feel when I heard it
so now I spit so the people can hear it
But I can't really fathom all of this that's starting' to happen
close my eyes and I see visions: the splitting of atom
the puppet master's still controlling the system
conducting the string quartet we the people are the instruments
there playing us...
you need to let ur conscious absorb this sit back
this is the ugly truth u didnt want gift wrapped
Poetry by Usman Mirza aka Crucial
Usman is also an MC by the name of Crucial from Neasden and is due to release his first mixtape this summer
By Hypothesis (Samiul Rahman)
Ready aim fire
Put this through the wire
My words bounce back like I’m preaching to a Choir
An open book spoken word open hook broken nerves
Token look smoking herbs,
Grass is greener on the other side hoping verbs
Don’t take affirmative action
While the full stop period still lacks attraction,
Compound syllabuls blown into fragments
Punctuation situation every time I get too patient
Sickest with the incubation
Premature nouns that sound profound
Pound for pound I’m going ounce for ounce
Levitate it off the ground then I bounce it down
A question for the masses
Every time I capture
Pages of phrases hidden between brackets
Can you comprehend the tenses that I packet
Food for thought no preservatives added
I need to state
Conjunctions that are made
So many send me coal in to trade
The winter for the heat hoodwinked and betrayed
Picture what I see when I put ink on a page
I quote commas like Im bringing grammar to life
Pause for a second then like a hammer it strikes
Nail on the head
Your missions are pointless like brail for the deaf
Slash ale on the breath that you fail to reject
I succeed in proposing, prepositional plurals
Go against the grain like Im living in the rural
Obama brought change not enough for a Euro
Human life beside hyphens subject to Zero
Objective adjectives blood paints a mural
So crystal clear like a conflict diamond possessive hypocrisy
I don’t want to go above heads like apostrophes
Only my two cents
On a train of thought
Flipped across the track to cause the brain to spark
Words hit like bullets
A million in the chamber let my brain pull it
The word is born
And I will spit it until it hurts and these words are gone
Hypothesis is an MC hailing from New York City, Queens. He is now working with other MC's in London to make his first mixtape
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
The Poetic Empowerment Project aims to bring self confidence to the youth whilst allowing them to articulate their frustrations, emotions and creativity through the art of wordplay. Furthermore the P.E.P aims to empower the youth regardless of race, religion or creed. The young people involved in the project will also come out of it acknowledging and implementing the famous idiom that in fact 'the pen is mightier then the sword.' The P.E.P whilst also giving the youth a chance to express themselves will also target important youth issues at the same time. Issues such as 'knife crimes' will be addressed as well as 'extremism' and 'loneliness' etc.
All these issues will be listed and targeted in workshops separately and we hope to include at least one famous poet or spoken word artists or even rappers. Anyone who is respected by the youth thus creating a healthy, mutual environment. So rather then the local MP speaking we would prefer to choose the local MC! However we do want politicians to work closely with the project to help build a relationship of respect with the local youth.
I have articulated some of these points on the Barnet Times, the link is below:
Copy and Paste the above link into the address bar to access it!
Activities and Workshops
The implementation of activities and workshops is solely dependent on whether the P.E.P receives funding or not. However the core of the P.E.P will be poetry circles which will be circulated and held on our website:
www.PoeticEmpowerment.blogspot.com and will also be advertised on social networking sites to encourage young people to get involved!
The P.E.P will have an annual Charity Poetry Slam at the end of the year using the young poets in our project to express their poems on stage in front of an audience. We also plan to book one poet to perform as the headline act. All the money raised from this Poetry Slam will go to charity. However the young poets will not be forced into performing and can create their own type of performance using video’s or pre-recorded spoken word segments.
Aims and outcomes
By the end of the year we hope to:
Have at least one group of young poets to start off the project headed and chaired by mentors and Poetic Leaders
Have at least one workshop with the youth trying to tackle issues which concern them
Organise our first Charity Poetry Slam with the local MP speaking, a local poet or rapper perform and of course have our young poets express their art to the audience if they want to.
The aims outlined above are both attainable and realistic
The outcomes of the project are as follows:
To create a better more rational population of young people who are empowered with the knowledge that the 'pen is mightier then the sword.'
The above outcome will hopeful eradicate problems like knife crime to radical extremism
To give the youth self-confidence and treat one another with respect. Also crucially to give the youth the oral skills to deal with parents in a respectful manner thus leading to a more healthy family life.
Most importantly let the youth enjoy their work and give them full artistic control in terms of how they want to present their poetry. Each young person will have their own creative means to an ends.
The Poetic Empowerment Project requires volunteer's to help in anyway possible, if you are interested please contact:
Thank you for reading our manifesto.